


October & April

by krasivaya



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Character Development, Gay, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Major Character(s), World War II, soldier side hetalia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krasivaya/pseuds/krasivaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world was gripped by the second world war. Anyone could be your enemy. As the naive child that Alfred was, he took this lightly, not paying any mind to the danger around him. Until his number gets drafted and he is sent of to fight. His child-like spirit remains, as he tries to make the best out of everything. Until he faces the grim reality of the war. This is brought upon by the commander, a harsh and cold man with a Slavic accent. Alfred must choose between war and love, because nothing is fair in love and war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	October & April

Chapter 1- The Manila Envelope

 

 

“ Go achieve something, won’t you? You haven’t done anything to benefit the rest of us!” His brother spat at the younger boy. He huffed, and ran a hand through his unruly hair. Alfred muttered under his breath, cursing his brother. After his brother collected himself, he slid an envelope across the wooden table. 

“ What’s this?” Alfred picked it up, examining the stamp. Whatever it was, it sure seemed important. He grabbed his Swiss-Army knife out of his pocket, before slicing the envelope open. Arthur stood there, watching his every move. 

“Artie, if you want to know that badly, why don’t you just open the thing?” Alfred tossed the thick manilla envelope to Arthur. 

He took the many articles of paper out of the envelope, not noticing or caring when it fell to the floor beneath him. Alfred tried to childishly peer over his shoulder, failing at the attempt. His brother had a habit of mouthing every word he read, as his eyes scanned the page. They flittered back and forth from each page.

“ This makes no sense,” Arthur said sub-consciously. Alfred cocked an eyebrow.

“What makes no sense?” He tried to grab the papers but the older boy held them far above his head.

“ I’m the older one here! I should go! Not you,” but then the boy’s flustered expression faded, as he came to a reality. He quickly put the papers behind his back and began walking down the hall to his room. 

Alfred flung himself on to the couch, that in no means matched any of the decor. He leaned over to turn up the radio. His back ached, for no reason that he could recall. The radio was telling of the latest news, whether it be sports or politics. The young boy didn’t care much for the latter. He loved hearing the crowd go insane whenever someone hit a home runner or pitched a nice shot. His brother on the other hand liked to indulge on the latest current affairs between the nations. He always talked about wanting to be a war hero, though Alfred knew it was never going to happen. 

You see, Arthur was always the logical one of the two. He had raised Alfred to be just like him, and had failed for the most part. Arthur was disappointed to learn that Alfred wasn’t just like himself. It wasn’t that he was in any way egotistical, he just knew that if he had made it this far following his set of rules and principles, Alfred sure could. Some days, Arthur worried for his little brother. He loved him dearly, and though he never showed it, he admired the younger boy for being so confident, unlike himself. 

Alfred leaned back and huffed. He was utterly exhausted. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, and let himself drift into a peaceful haze, between the lines of sleep and a period of peaceful comatose. His glasses slid down his nose, being halted by the tip, which only slightly curved upwards. 

Arthur sat on his bed, head between his hands.

“ You can’t avoid it Arthur,” He mumbled to himself, massaging his temple. He sighed, heaving himself up. He hated this feeling of worthlessness. He only wanted to help, not be stranded here while his brother gets himself killed.

Why did he have to do it? Wait nevermind. Arthur in no way regretted the way he and Feliciano felt that night. He only regretted the fact that Ludwig had walked in, ruining it all. Arthur could have saved the country. He could have helped so many people. Instead they labeled his love a “disease” and forbade him from ever joining the Corps or seeing his love again. 

Arthur opened up the letter once more, sighing. He re-read the small printed words on the paper. He let it sink in. He couldn’t let his little brother just go off and try to be a war hero.The boy could amount to something much greater. He was a wonderful musician. Alfred loved the Trumpet and Jazz music in general. Arthur sullenly dropped the letter in the trash bin. He hoped Alfred didn’t bring it up in later conversation 

Arthur sulked back to his bed, grumbling softly. He flopped in his bed, and glanced at his alarm clock once more, to be sure of the time. So much for getting any more than 3 hours of rest. The british born boy pulled his quilted comforter over his head and closed his eyes tight, struggling to fall asleep. He was extremely warm, and not wanting to be under all of the covers, but it seemed the only option.After a seemingly endless time of tossing and turning, the boy drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Alfred didn’t get much sleep that night. The nagging thought of what the envelope contained was constantly floating around his head. He tossed around a dust covered rubber ball. The boy sighed, straightening his glasses and looking up at his textured ceiling. He decided to try tossing the ball up to the ceiling, but it only resulted in the ball hitting him square in the face. He groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Alfred sat up on the rock hard couch and sighed. He got up, bending back slightly to pop his back. Shuffling to his room, he rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t going to fall back asleep so he quietly tiptoed into his room, pulling out the battered case. He fingered the notes before letting out a soft, yet powerful hum on his instrument. Alfred was trying not to be too loud, because every time he attempted to play at night, Arthur became irked and scolded Alfred. He tried playing one of the newer songs from his book. After failing, he started off on “ When The Saints Go Marching in” .

Not coming from a very musical family was hard. He had no one to go for for training or help. Roderich, his somewhat grouchy neighbor down the street wouldn’t help Alfred anyway. He sighed before playing “ Reveille .” He set the brass instrument back in its case, sighing. He hoped he hadn’t woken up his brother. Alfred sighed and flopped back on his bed. It was already 5 am, so why even bother. He sat up and decided to make breakfast for his brother, because Lord knows he couldn’t cook for himself. 

Alfred struggled to reach the pancake mix, but eventually was able to grasp it. He did have to hop on the counter to retrieve a mixing bowl. He pulled a wooden spoon out of the drawer as well, before closing it with his hip. He turned on the radio, Sinatra playing softly. He began to mix the batter and all of its supporting ingredients. Alfred bit his lip as he slid the mix into the oven, knowing how his brother loved a nice pancake cake. 

Arthur woke up, and quickly made sure that his brother had not taken the envelope out of his trash. Relieved, the brit sat back down on his bed, having pulled some sort of muscle in is quick and sharp action. Arthur quickly took a whiff in of pancakes. He smiled softly and walked out his door. 

“ Alfie? I don’t suppose you are making pancakes?” He chuckled at the sight of his brother in an apron.

The boy turned around quickly, almost dropping the pan which held the delectable pastries. Alfred smiled back. 

“Yes uh- they will be done cooling in a few minutes… So just sit here for a second, alright?” Alfred placed them on the counter. Arthur was excited, as well as pleased that his little brother pitched in a bit. 

Alfred snuck into the back hallway, turning to enter Arthur’s room. He tried desperately to yield all squeaking coming from the door. He was in! Alfred walked over to Arthur’s strangely neat trash bin, and saw the manilla envelope, lying there in plain sight for him. He suppressed his laughter. Silly dear Arthur this was child's play. He took the envelope and quickly opened the thing, Pulling out the flowing stack of papers. He saw the recognizable typewriter print.

“Hey uh- Artie, would ya’ come here for a minute?” Alfred said, pencil in his hand.


End file.
